


Sniper Sight

by abundantlyqueer



Series: Sniper Sight AU [1]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-23
Updated: 2004-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-13 01:53:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abundantlyqueer/pseuds/abundantlyqueer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For shaenie, who wanted "billy/elijah -- hitmen."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sniper Sight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shaenie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaenie/gifts).



Billy always drives them to the hit. There's nothing wrong with the way Elijah drives; it's that Billy can't stand to be idle before a job. If he lets Elijah drive, then Billy's trapped in the passenger seat with nothing to do except tear his fingernails out from under his cuticles. So Billy drives, and the idiosyncrasies of the sleek dark rental car are a soothing white noise under his hands.

Billy steals little sidelong glances at Elijah, but Elijah's staring studiously out of the window on his side, and all Billy gets of him is the small flare of sunlight reflecting off the gun-metal side of his shades, and the almost beardless curve of his cheek, and the way the corner of his mouth is always slightly tucked in the suggestion of a smile.

Billy turns the car off the street and down into the sudden gloom of the hotel car park. Oily yellow light slides across the hood of the car as they circle up a level, and Billy pulls into the single vacant space next to the elevator.

Billy reaches inside his jacket, sliding his gun from the holster under his left arm.

"Are yeh ready to do this?" he asks, triple checking the silencer screwed into the gun's muzzle and dropping the clip into his palm just for the comfort of smacking it back in and feeling it snap into place so sweetly.

Elijah lifts his hand to his shades, settling them more snugly against the bridge of his nose, and turns his face towards Billy.

"Locked and loaded, Bills."

Billy smiles back, just a little shaky with adrenalin, and shoves his gun back into his jacket. They get out of the car, slamming the doors shut, and Elijah walks to Billy and they go together to the elevator. The doors open at once when Billy thumbs the button. They get in, and Billy presses the button for the roof-garden restaurant. The doors whisper shut again.

"I'll be right behind yeh, if anything goes wrong," Billy says. "So - "

"Billy."

"Aye?" Billy answers, his voice sharp-edged.

"Relax," Elijah says, gap-toothed boy smile under dark mirrored wrap-arounds.

"A'right," Billy says, his small mouth curling unevenly.

Elijah pushes in, one hand spreading over Billy's faintly stubbled cheek, the other catching Billy's hip. Elijah's lush mouth presses against Billy's parted lips, and Elijah's tongue swipes between Billy's small teeth. Billy tenses, then slackens with a sigh of pleasure.

"That's better," Elijah whispers, easing back.

All Billy can do is nod and breathe a little shakily. He can see his own wide eyes staring back at him from the reflective curves of Elijah's shades.

The elevator doors open, revealing the plate glass and polished brass lobby of the restaurant. Elijah pushes through, into an open space of breeze and brightness and lush greenery. Billy follows, and they both stop, Billy at Elijah's shoulder.

"Last table at the back on the right," Billy says at once. "Short gray hair, blue shirt."

"Got it," Elijah says.

He moves away, walking casually down the row of tables.

Billy watches him go, and for a second it's like seeing him for the first time again. A small, slender young man with tousled dark hair, his striking coloring set off by a gauzy white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal the surprisingly sinuous lines of his forearms, and a pair of pale and worn denims that manage to simultaneously fit closely enough to display every delicious nuance of his form, and yet hang loose enough to suggest a wicked ease of removal.

Elijah's almost level with the last table, walking with a little hitch and swing of his shoulders and hips that Billy's pretty sure is illegal in forty-some states. Several diners, male and female, abandon any pretence at subtlety and stare openly. Elijah has eyes only for the target, who looks up from his meal and smiles in honest appreciation. Elijah lifts his hand to his shades and slides them down a couple of inches and beams back a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes and

Billy hisses in a little sip of air

what

what

what do they see in that last instant?

That Billy will never see.

Elijah pushes his shades back up as he walks on, past the bar, into the hallway that leads to the men's room, and incidentally the kitchens, and the service elevator down to the delivery bay and another rental car.

There's the sudden rattle of flatware sliding off a plate and falling to the ground, and then the crash of the plate falling too, and someone screams as the man at the last table on the right slides out of his seat and collapses on the floor, his fingers clawing at his chest as if he can hope to squeeze the blood through his rigid heart by hand.

Billy turns around and walks back to the elevator. He thumbs the button and waits while the elevator returns and the doors open. He purses his lips, whistling silently. Funny thing, envy, he thinks as he steps back into the elevator and presses the button for the parking level. It's not that he wants to die, obviously. It's just he wants to know … what color Elijah's eyes are. That's all.


End file.
